


Rock Music and Sexual Relations

by flecksofpoppy



Series: A Little Faith-verse Companion Pieces [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A Little Faith-verse, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Awkward Dates, Coming Out, Fluid Sexuality, M/M, dorks with boners, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1745555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set two days after Marco and Jean finally admit their feelings and hook up, they have their first "date" as more than friends.</p><p>A little glimpse into the start of Jean and Marco's romantic relationship set in my 1990s AU "A Little Faith" which can be read <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1450693">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Music and Sexual Relations

**Author's Note:**

> ~~Obviously this was not a self-indulgent excuse to write thousands of words about adorable dorks being emo and awkward.~~
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> Spoiler: yes, it was.
> 
> As always, thank you again to somebodyslight for helping me and beta reading this like a million times. <3 Comments are always appreciated! XD

“Hi,” Marco says with a smile at the door. He’s blushing slightly, face tinged pink.

“Hi,” Jean replies, feeling himself also heat a little.

It doesn’t escape him that two days ago, he gave Marco Bodt a blowjob, came against his stomach, and spent the night cuddling naked.

Of course, that doesn’t seem to matter currently as they both just stand there, staring at each other.

Just as Jean turns away with a nervous little smile, Marco leans forward with his face angled to the side at precisely the same time. His nose hits Jean’s ear, and then they both jump away from each other and start to mutter jittery apologies through nervous laughter. 

“So, um,” Jean says, fidgeting with his shirt and staring at Marco’s loafers, “do you want to order takeout or something?”

“We can just, um... we can do whatever you want,” Marco says quickly, folding his fingers together tensely. “Are you hungry?”

“Um, I don’t know. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t know.”

Well, this is going great so far.

Two days before—being drunk on Marco-endorphins—Jean had happily asked Marco as they walked back to his car together if he wanted to go on a real date.

And Marco, being Marco, had immediately agreed and been excited. They’d even held hands as they walked from Reiner and Bertolt’s.

And now, Jean is starting to wonder if any of it actually happened.

“I brought something,” Marco says suddenly, finally looking up to meet Jean’s eyes shyly. He musters a nervous smile, and then pulls a cassette tape out of his back pocket.

Jean forgets his nerves for a moment, though, as he takes it and starts to laugh.

“Ace of Base? I can’t believe you still have this.”

Marco smiles a little, but the blush on his cheeks is still glowing in full force.

“I was going through some stuff in the basement, because my mom is having a garage sale this spring, and I found that.”

Jean grins and looks at the clear cassette tape; it brings back all kinds of memories of being in Marco’s basement, and thinking they were really edgy for sneaking it in.

“Remember how your mom thought it was the devil’s music?” Jean asks, starting to laugh. “Because the lyrics are ‘I saw the sign?’”

“And she thought it meant the sign of the beast?” Marco finishes, laughing now, too.

Jean keeps grinning—he has a lot of fond memories of hanging out with Marco in that refinished basement.

Finally, Marco relaxes fractionally, and he smiles more openly at Jean; the shy expression is back, but this time, it’s not edged with such razor-sharp nervousness.

“I’m kind of starving,” he admits, and Jean nods.

“Me too,” he laughs quietly. “Here, uh, let me take your jacket...” 

Marco shrugs off his leather jacket and hands it to Jean, and Jean takes it gingerly; he fights the urge to bury his face in it to smell Marco, but then realizes he doesn’t have to do that anymore.

In fact, he doesn’t even have to bury his nose in Marco’s jacket—he’s allowed to do it at the source.

“Um,” he says, turning toward Marco with the jacket in one arm, and then gets close to give Marco an awkward, one-armed hug.

This turns into Jean pushing his face against Marco’s neck to inhale; but then, he feels Marco’s arms come up hesitantly to wrap around him.

“Are you smelling me?” Marco murmurs after a moment of Jean just standing there, breathing against his neck.

Jean smiles a little, and feeling brave, presses a soft, hesitant kiss against Marco’s neck.

“Maybe, since now I’m allowed to,” he says, but then draws back, looking self-conscious. “Um, am I?” 

“Yeah,” Marco says with a soft smile on his face, “I like it.”

“Remember that Nirvana t-shirt you wore when you slept over that night?”

“Yeah,” Marco replies curiously, cocking his head to the side. “What about it?”

“I never washed it afterwards,” Jean admits, and he can feel the blush rising in his cheeks again.

“Why would you—” Marco stops talking abruptly, and his eyes widen. “Oh,” he says, as if dumbstruck, _“oh.”_

“Yeah,” Jean confirms as he walks away quickly to hang up Marco’s coat, feeling silly as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

Marco’s mouth quirks into a shy smile. “That’s really nice,” he says softly. “I didn’t... I don’t even know what to say.”

“Okay, so...” Jean says, walking away quickly and biting his lip, the moment becoming too intense for him. “You want to order out and watch a movie or something? How about ‘The Crow?’”

Marco smiles a little and nods, following Jean into the living room. “I’ve never seen that before. Is it a nature documentary about birds?”

Jean whirls around to look at him with raised eyebrows, and Marco winks at him.

Fucking _winks_ at him.

“You’re a jerk,” is all he can manage to spit out, and Marco just grins. Jean bites his lip when he sees the openly affectionate look that Marco is giving him, even though he doesn’t say anything else.

“So, um,” he continues hoarsely, “you want pizza or something?”

“Pizza sounds good,” Marco agrees, walking into Jean’s kitchen to retrieve the menu. He already knows where they’re kept, right next to the microwave. “Toppings?”

“We’re not getting pineapples. That’s so weird.”

Marco moves to stand in the kitchen doorway, and he’s actually pouting. “Why not? It’s like sweet and savory. It’s delicious! Besides, I don’t know why you’re so into onions... talk about weird.” He makes a face and shakes his head at Jean in disapproval.

When they’d first hung out at Jean’s apartment—at least nine months ago, at this point—Marco had just agreed to order whatever kind of pizza Jean wanted. He’d choked down pizza with onion and chicken toppings, until finally, Jean stopped being oblivious and noticed the expression on his face.

Marco hates onions.

They’ve come a long way since then; and it suddenly occurs to Jean that Marco already knows what toppings he wants, and he already knows exactly what the compromise is going to be.

A quarter with pineapple, half with onions and chicken, and the rest with pepperoni and extra cheese.

Jean says as much on the phone when he orders it, covertly staring at Marco’s back as he idly looks out the window at the dark street below.

His shoulders are broad and he’s wearing one of his polo shirts, and Jean can’t help but stare at the freckles sprinkled on his forearms.

He’s allowed to ask to touch those freckles now if he wants; it’s not weird. He doesn’t have to hide.

 _“Um, hello?”_ comes a tinny voice over the phone.

“Oh,” Jean says, blinking hard and immediately averting his eyes as Marco turns around to see what’s happening with the order. “I mean... um... can I also get...”

“Soda pop,” Marco whispers. Jean immediately bites his lips together to avoid laughing at the phrase “soda pop,” and just nods.

“And, um, a two liter of Coke.”

He raises an eyebrow at Marco and then rolls his eyes, mouthing silently, _“‘Soda pop?’”_

Marco just gives a silly, sheepish little smile, and Jean swears he can _hear_ his own heartbeat as it starts to thump in his chest. He loves when Marco makes silly faces, because it’s so grotesquely adorable he doesn’t even know what to do with himself.

“Okay, thanks. Bye,” he concludes, hoping they’ll be fast, before pressing the power button on the cordless phone and replacing it on the cradle next to the couch. 

“The movie title you were kidding about,” he starts, turning to look at Marco in amusement, “but soda pop. Really?”

“What?” Marco replies, giving Jean a plaintive look. “That’s what it is.”

Jean gives a long suffering sigh, and shoots Marco a sideways smile. “All right, polo shirt. Let’s cue up this documentary and wait for the food.” 

They settle down on the couch, and Jean feels like they might as well have a chaperone at a middle school dance the way that they remain at a safe two foot distance away from each other. He can’t complain, though, because he’s feeding into this arrangement just as much as Marco. He’s just too nervous to get any closer, now that they don’t have the urgency of romantic confessions and misunderstandings to drive them forward.

Even though all he _really_ wants to do is put an arm around Marco and kiss him until his lips hurt and carry him into the bedroom and give him as many orgasms as he can stand.

Clearly, however, as Marco shoots him a veiled look and Jean just smiles nervously in return, that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon. They watch the movie in silence, although it’s not actually uncomfortable; there’s just a strange not-totally-unpleasant energy in the air.

Suddenly, Jean’s buzzer cuts through the dialogue (and, as Jean has already noted, a sweet soundtrack), and he jumps up to get the door.

They’re both distracted from their shared awkwardness as the bountiful feast of pizza and “soda pop” arrives, and Jean carefully ensures that none of his onions get on Marco’s part of the pizza.

They settle back on the couch together, awkwardness somewhat dissipated (although this is momentarily interrupted when Marco literally _moans_ over the food and Jean has to shift the way he’s sitting), as they happily devour the pizza.

Jean looks over at him again, sneaking a clandestine, truly middle-school-worthy glance, and just as Marco finally meets his eyes and smiles a little, he accidentally drops the cup and open soda bottle he’s holding right into his lap.

“Oh _no,_ ” Marco cries in dismay, righting the soda bottle and standing up as he tries not to let the mess drip onto Jean’s couch. “I’m sorry!”

Jean grabs a wad of napkins and immediately starts patting the soda off Marco’s lap, only to drop them abruptly when he realizes what he’s doing.

“Here!” he squeaks, grabbing more and shoving them into Marco’s hand. “It’s okay! I’ll, uh... go get some paper towels. I’ll be right back...”

He escapes into the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels from the counter, wondering fervently why he’s suddenly been transported back to junior high again.

When he returns to the living room, Marco is still dabbing at his soaked pants and shirt, and shoots Jean a plaintive look.

“I’m so clumsy,” he says, shaking his head and laughing weakly. “At least I didn’t get anything on your couch.”

Jean just shrugs indifferently and hands Marco the paper towels. “No big deal. But... that’s probably gonna stain.” He ushers Marco toward his bedroom. “Just grab anything—I don’t care. There are a thousand t-shirts and pants in the closet. Uh, they might be a little short on you...”

Marco nods and smiles in embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m already starting to feel sticky. Thanks.” He disappears into Jean’s room, and Jean tries to ignore how fast and hard his heart is beating.

He cleans up the remaining mess that’s fallen onto the hardwood floor, and as he’s dumping everything into the trash in the kitchen, he hears Marco reemerge.

“Um, hope you don’t mind... this one was clean,” Marco says, biting his lip and looking embarrassed, the blush showing prominently behind his freckles as Jean walks back into the living room. “I promise not to spill anything on it.”

It’s Jean’s Smiths t-shirt.

Despite the awkwardness, Jean can’t fight the immediate, silly grin that breaks out on his face at the sight of Marco in his t-shirt, standing there, looking adorable.

“You’re not wearing pants,” he says after a moment, stating the obvious as he looks down at Marco’s bottom half.

“Uh, yeah... about that,” Marco says sheepishly, immediately retreating to sit on the couch in his boxers away from Jean’s gaze, “I didn’t see any clean pants. Or they’re all in the hamper.”

“Sorry,” Jean groans, rolling his eyes, “I forgot—laundry day’s the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Marco says, laughing nervously. “Um, do you mind if I’m... in my boxers or, uh...”

“No,” Jean says frankly; he’s impressed with himself at not blushing and getting the word out so quickly. Feeling brave, he says the next thing that comes to mind. “Besides, you’re my boy—”

Jean almost swallows his tongue; there’s no way Marco would react well to that, given that he’s dated girls his entire life, and this arrangement is probably going to take some getting used to.

“You’re my friend,” he finishes quickly, laughing nervously. “Yeah, uh, so it’s not a big deal, right?”

If he’s not mistaken, though, Marco looks a little crestfallen when he doesn’t finish the sentence. 

“I should probably go soon anyway,” Marco says, looking down at the ground and biting his lip. “It’s after ten.”

“Oh, okay,” Jean replies, disappointment settling into his gut. It’s not like he really _expected_ Marco to stay; especially not after the way the entire evening has gone. “Do you want to finish the movie at least?”

“Sure,” Marco says, smiling a little.

Jean takes his place at the end of the couch, and Marco sits awkwardly a foot away from him.

Jean realizes how ridiculous the entire situation is, but he just isn’t sure what the alternative is; he’s too shy when it comes to things like this to know what to do, or what Marco wants or is expecting. Jean is relatively confident when it comes to most other things—even sex—but when it comes to _dating_ , he’s clueless.

He unpauses the VCR, and sneaks a look at Marco; who, at the same time, is openly staring back at Jean now.

And without further ado, Marco finally closes the distance between them and cuddles up next to Jean.

“This movie is really bad,” he remarks, pulling Jean’s arm around his shoulders.

Jean clears his throat nervously, but then pulls Marco closer. “Yeah,” he croaks. 

Marco turns his head to rest it on Jean’s shoulder, and suddenly, Jean finally relaxes.

It’s _Marco_ for fuck’s sake. They’ve even sat like this before and watched TV together. And when Jean stops being so anxious, he realizes how much he likes having his arm around Marco; only it’s not only friendly or comforting. It’s also romantic—which, with Marco, feels good—but it’s just... nice. Jean realizes that there’s no reason to feel so nervous, because it’s just a casual, uneventful Friday night spent watching a movie together with someone he cares about. 

Marco is still the same person who Jean’s always known; Jean just doesn’t have to hide the fact anymore that he wants to kiss him.

Suddenly, this date stuff doesn’t seem quite as bad as Jean first thought.

And thank god for Marco—as usual—being the one to lead Jean where he needs to go.

It probably took a lot for Marco to make the first move, too, because Jean can see how nervous he is. He also knows Jean well enough, though, to assume that Jean would stand there, staring at him with a nerve-wracked expression and biting his lip until the world ended without an intervention.

They watch the movie together in silence, until Jean realizes that Marco has fallen asleep on his shoulder. He’s also very cuddly, and when Jean shifts, he just gets closer and makes a disgruntled sleepy snort to protest being displaced.

It’s fucking adorable, and if Jean didn’t believe his aloof dignity was a lost cause before, he certainly knows it now.

By the time the credits are finally rolling, Jean is hoping that they keep going forever, since that would mean it’s not time for Marco to go.

But inevitably they do end, and it’s at least midnight when Jean taps Marco on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers, “movie’s over.”

Marco makes another grumpy noise and sighs, but then his eyes open and he yawns. He smiles a little at Jean, and Jean feels his heart skip a beat.

“You’re warm,” he says simply. Jean laughs a little, and rubs Marco’s upper arm absently.

They just sit there together, but then the silence grows awkward again, given the imminent decision of where exactly Marco’s going to end up.

“So,” Marco sighs after a moment—sounding a little disappointed, if Jean’s not mistaken—as he pulls away to sit up, “I guess I should go...”

Jean finds himself nodding. “I can drive you.”

If there’s ever been a moment when Jean needed superhuman strength to get past his own awkward mouth, it would be right about now. He needs to think of something smooth to make asking Marco to spend the night seem natural, something suave and finessed.

“Stay,” he blurts out.

Not as smooth as he was hoping, but better than nothing.

Apparently, this is more than enough for Marco, because a huge smile spreads over his face and he launches himself at Jean to envelope him in the tightest hug Jean’s ever felt. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he whispers, still holding on tight. “Or... I don’t know, if you’d changed your mind about... um... us.”

Jean wraps both hands around Marco’s waist and draws back slightly with a horrified expression. “What would make you think _that?_ ” he asks in shock.

Marco’s eyes immediately drop and he looks shy and self-conscious again, but he doesn’t let go. “I don’t know,” he says softly, “well, I’m still... trying to believe this is real. But also, it just seemed like I was intruding.”

 _“No,”_ Jean says emphatically, shaking his head. “I’m sorry for being... me.”

Marco smiles a little at that, and Jean finally kisses him. It’s just a peck, and it’s affectionate, but it still counts.

“I’ve never had an, um...” Jean knows he has to bite the bullet, and it’s worth it. “I’ve never had a boyfriend,” he says clearly, forcing his mouth to form the words concisely. “I’ve hooked up with people,” he continues, deciding to be honest—they _are_ adults—and he knows Marco’s not going to be judge him, “but I’ve never...”

“Dated anyone?” Marco finishes softly.

“No,” Jean says with a bashful shrug. “I know that’s a little weird, since I’m twenty-two. Uh...”

“That’s not weird,” Marco replies firmly. “I’ve only dated two people.”

 _“You?_ ” Jean exclaims, staring at Marco in surprise.

Marco starts to laugh, shaking his head, his eyes warm as he looks at Jean. “Did you think I was some sort of... stud or something?”

Jean groans and shakes his head, pulling Marco close and pressing a hand agiainst the back of his head to stroke his hair. “Marco, never use the word ‘stud’ again. For any reason.”

“Is that sort of like saying ‘rock music?’” Marco asks, but Jean can hear the laughter in his voice.

“Yes,” Jean replies staunchly, his hand dropping to Marco’s shoulders to stroke light fingers over his shoulder blades. 

Marco is apparently genuinely curious, though, and asks again. “Really, though?” he continues. “Why are you surprised?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Jean replies bashfully, his voice embarrassed, “I just thought... you would’ve dated lots of people. Because you’re... you.”

“Uh, I’m me?”

“Yeah!” Jean says, as if the answer is obvious. “Who wouldn’t want to date you?”

Marco draws back unexpectedly, and Jean is surprised to see the serious expression on his face.

They just stare at each other for a moment, until Marco cups Jean’s face with both hands and gives him a real kiss. It’s slow and almost meditative, the way their lips move against each other, and then Jean feels Marco’s tongue gently slide against his.

Jean’s been kissed before—usually sloppily and during sex—but he’s _never_ been kissed like this.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Marco whispers after they break apart. “I mean,” he continues, “I don’t mean that anyone’s been unkind to me. But, um...” he swallows hard, “no one has ever felt that strongly about me.”

“Well,” Jean says, raising and eyebrow, and meaning every word with every scrap of sincerity he possesses, “then everyone else who’s dated you is a goddamn idiot.”

Marco clears his throat noisily, and kisses Jean’s cheek. “Thanks,” he says simply; then yawns widely, making Jean laugh.

“Uh,” Jean says, finally drawing away, “do you need to tell your mom you’re not going to be home?”

Marco groans in mortification and as he shakes his head, putting both hands over his face. “I can’t believe that’s actually a question that needs to be answered, even though it does.” 

Jean laughs and moves to grab the cordless phone. “Well, here—just make something up.”

“Um,” Marco says, his face starting to turn red as he meets Jean’s eyes, “that’s okay.”

“Won’t she call the police to file a missing person report?” Jean asks, quirking an eyebrow; he’s not actually joking, though.

“I already told her I might not be home tonight,” Marco says, swallowing hard with wide eyes. 

“You told her that?” Jean replies in disbelief, his eyebrows raising. He feels a very warm feeling come over him.

“Uh... not only that,” Marco hazards, making a face. Jean can tell that whatever Marco’s about to say wasn’t meant to come out immediately, but apparently, it is regardless. 

“Yeah?” Jean coaxes curiously, replacing the phone on the cradle.

“I told her.”

“Told her what?” Jean asks, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

“I _told_ her,” Marco repeats.

“Oh, shit,” Jean gasps, the blood draining from his face. “Did something trip you up and out you?”

“Uh, no,” Marco says, shuffling his feet and staring the floor (Jean is distracted momentarily by the fact that the sight of Marco wearing dorky tube socks with boxers is possibly the cutest thing he’s ever seen). “I told her. I just sort of... said it.”

“You told her by _choice?”_ Jean exclaims.

“Yeah,” Marco replies, studying Jean cautiously. Jean doesn’t like that hesitant look, so he immediately clarifies.

“Wow, I just... I didn’t expect that.” He immediately strides over to Marco and hugs him tightly. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says softly.

“I don’t want to keep our relationship a secret,” Marco says, embracing Jean in return, “because I’m _happy.”_

Jean kisses Marco’s temple and nods. “I’m happy, too,” he whispers. It’s not quite as hard to say things like that with Marco, once he gets used to it.

“So,” Jean says, almost afraid to ask, “uh, how’d she take it?”

“I think she’s still just staring into space with a traumatized expression,” Marco replies, but he’s starting to laugh. “And I think she might be praying for me. Maybe.”

“But... she didn’t, like, disown you or something?” Jean asks with solemn concern.

“No,” Marco says softly. “My mom wouldn’t do that. She’s into Jesus and stuff, but I know she loves me, even if I’m... um... bisexual.”

“Maybe you’re not bisexual,” Jean declares, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Maybe_ you just can’t fucking resist me. How about that?”

Marco starts to laugh and nods in agreement, but a soft look comes over his face. “Actually,” he says, playing with the hem of the Smiths t-shirt, “I don’t mind saying it. Because... I don’t _really_ feel straight. You know?”

“What the fuck does that term even mean, anyway?” Jean replies vehemently. “Remind me some time to share my views on sexuality. It’s a lot like music, actually, because—”

“Jean, it’s almost one a.m.”

Jean huffs, but decides to spare Marco and save his complex thesis on human sexuality for a later date.

“Uh,” he adds, shifting uncomfortably, “what about Shadis?”

Marco’s face darkens and he shakes his head. “Nope.”

That’s straightforward, and Jean can’t help but silently agree it’s a good idea to keep it at that. Then, he looks at Marco with what he knows is a goofy, excited expression.

“I know what you should do,” Jean says, nodding his head. Marco looks at him expectantly with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“You should wait until a really special family holiday, like Christmas, and tell him then.” Jean grins widely. “Or maybe his birthday—‘Oh, hey, Keith, I’m a fag. And my fag boyfriend is an atheist who belongs in prison. Happy birthday!’” 

Marco is laughing so hard, he’s doubled over and can’t breathe, tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

He finally manages to squeak out, “You really are the anti-Christ, Jean.”

“Great—I’ve fulfilled all my life goals.”

Finally, Marco is able to stop laughing, and he looks at Jean with a radiant smile that makes Jean’s heart thump.

“You look really good in that shirt,” he blurts out.

Marco blinks, but then instead of blushing, he just smiles.

“Um,” he says, biting his lip a little, “I feel really good in this shirt.”

“Yeah,” Jean murmurs, and then closes the distance between them, pulling Marco close to kiss him.

Marco lets out a breathless little sigh that simultaneously goes straight to Jean’s cock and heart, and he realizes he’s never felt so happy in his life. Suddenly, everything seems perfectly balanced and wonderful.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” he asks bravely.

Marco bites his lip and nods. “Yeah,” he whispers. 

They separate as Marco heads into the bedroom, and Jean takes his time—a little nervous, regardless of his positive feelings—turning everything off in the kitchen and living room, double checking the door is bolted, and then just stands in the darkened living room for a moment, watching the shadows the passing cars make on the ceiling.

Marco is just on the other side of the door, waiting for Jean; because Marco is his _boyfriend_. Jean allows himself a giddy little grin, before neutralizing his expression so that Marco doesn’t think he’s lost his mind.

Jean strips off his shirt as he makes his way to bedroom, throwing it carelessly onto the back of the couch, and pushes open the door.

Marco is already lying in bed, the sheets and quilt literally pulled up to his neck as he peeks out.

Jean feels a surge of affection as he realizes that the tips of Marco’s feet are hanging off the edge of the mattress because he’s just a little too tall to fit completely.

Jean doesn’t say anything; just pulls the blankets down on his side, climbs in, and turns out the light.

They lie there for a minute, until Marco finally rolls over and cuddles up next to him.

Jean assumes the “date” is over—although, granted, this is a little different than an actual first date—and shuts his eyes, nuzzling Marco’s hair where Marco’s rested his head against Jean’s shoulder, his entire body pressed against Jean’s side. Their legs tangle, and Jean smiles as he sighs sleepily.

“So...” Marco whispers unexpectedly, and Jean opens his eyes.

“Uh huh?” he asks, tracing idle circles against Marco’s back through the thin, well-worn t-shirt.

“When, um,” he says, although his words aren’t clipped so much as thoughtful, “you’re with a guy... what’s different?”

Jean starts to laugh a little and rests his hand against Marco’s back.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean... well, how’s it different than being with a girl?” Marco hesitates, so Jean waits for him to finish the thought. “You know, since I’ve only ever been with girls. I was just... wondering.”

Jean shrugs minutely, feeling this is a fair inquiry. He’d probably be wondering the same thing.

“Well,” he starts, “I guess there’s the obvious difference.”

“Which is?”

“Uh, well, Marco... dicks.”

Marco makes an embarrassed sound, and Jean laughs softly as he turns his head to kiss Marco’s hair affectionately.

Regardless of Marco’s outward politeness, Jean knows that he isn’t completely clueless. No one could make the sounds Marco made when Jean was blowing him—those little breathless sighs and that tight grip in Jean’s short hair—without having _some_ inkling of what they wanted.

“And, well... I mean, I guess there’s a lot of stuff that’s the same,” Jean says with another shrug. “Like, you can have the same type of sex, but... uh, you know. It goes into a different place. Which is cool, but honestly, a lot of people don’t do that all the time. It’s not like with a girl, where that’s _all_ you see on TV and stuff constantly.” Jean gives a wry laugh. “Which is also bullshit, anyway, since not all girls just want to get rammed twenty-four-seven.”

“Hm,” Marco replies, making a meditative noise. “So like, anal sex?”

“Don’t make it sound clinical or anything, Marco.”

Marco starts to laugh, and to Jean’s excitement, his hand starts to creep up along Jean’s ribs; it’s not a particularly aggressive touch, but it’s still a nice feeling. Just to have Marco’s fingers anywhere on his skin is enough for Jean.

“And then there’s oral,” Jean continues, warming up to the topic since he’s been asked. “Which, uh... well, you know about _that.”_

Marco gives an amused little hum, and Jean smiles as he feels Marco turn to kiss his chest. Yes, he does know.

“What about... um...”

“Yeah?”

“Well, what do you like?” Marco asks softly. Now he is genuinely shy, and Jean can feel his own face heating. As always, he’s much more forthcoming in action, rather than words.

“Uh,” Jean stammers, “well...” He forces himself to just talk; Marco asked, and it’s not like Marco is an expert in the subject of gay sex. Marco also already pulled his weight by initiating physical contact, and Jean know it’s time to meet him halfway. “I like bottoming,” he finally replies bluntly. 

He doesn’t want to bring up Reiner and Bertl, but he uses his experiences with them as a touchstone. “I like...” he swallows hard and takes a breath, “I like bottoming, and pretty much anything... to do with that... Uh, yeah.”

Marco hasn’t said anything, and Jean closes his eyes in mortification. “And I really like kissing,” he squeaks out as an afterthought.

The truth of the matter is that Jean doesn’t actually like kissing; he just really likes kissing Marco. Kissing has always been too intimate for him unless it’s sloppy and filthy—the occasional come swap or just general maneuver during sex—but he loves kissing Marco. He loves kissing Marco so much that he actually enjoys it just as much as bottoming.

“So, you like to be the one... um, receiving?” Marco finally asks. 

Just as Jean is about to apologize for being crude, he feels Marco’s very prominent erection against his leg.

“Yup,” Jean replies simply, swallowing hard. 

“Do you like fingering?”

Jean blinks; it’s unusual for Marco to speak so candidly. But hey, what the hell—they’ve come this far.

“Um, yeah, actually,” Jean says softly. His face is burning so hotly at this point, he’s relatively sure he’s going to light the bed on fire.

“Can I try it?”

_“What?”_

Marco immediately recoils slightly, and Jean realizes he’s taken surprise as rejection. “No, I didn’t mean it that way,” he corrects quickly. “I, uh, just didn’t think you’d be so... ambitious.”

“Well,” Marco says softly, relaxing again, “I have to admit...”

“Yeah?” Jean asks curiously, no idea what Marco could possibly be about to tell him.

“I tried it.”

“You _tried_ it?” Jean exclaims, drawing away to look Marco right in the face. He can see Marco’s wide, dark eyes in what little light there is, staring right back at him.

“It’s not something I’d ever done,” Marco says with a shrug, dropping his gaze. “So, um... I did it because I thought you might like it.”

“You fingered yourself because you thought I might like it?” Jean replies in confusion, still processing the fact that Marco _fingered_ himself.

“I thought about you and did it,” Marco blurts out, biting his lip, and looking supremely embarrassed. “I don’t know... it wasn’t anything I’d ever done, so it just seemed like... well, honestly, more _gay_.” He laughs nervously. “That sounds bad, right? But... it made me think of _you_ , and not just... the other types of sexual relations I’ve had.”

“Marco, never say ‘sexual relations’ again. Add it to the ‘stud’ and ‘rock music’ collection.”

“Sexual relations,” Marco deadpans with a challenging, raised eyebrow.

Jean starts to laugh, and pushes Marco onto his back; even though he looks amused, he also looks more embarrassed than Jean’s ever seen, and Jean doesn’t want him to feel that way.

He presses a kiss to Marco’s lips, and Marco’s hand lands on the back of his neck.

“So, what did you think?” Jean finally asks curiously when the kiss breaks.

Marco looks at him hesitantly, but when Jean doesn’t express outright shock at the confession, he seems to relax.

“Well, it was _okay_ ,” he says with a shrug, looking confused. “I thought... it would be a lot better. I don’t know—I’d heard things. But...”

“You want me to show you?” Jean blurts out without thinking.

Marco’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and then he just nods slowly.

“Are you sure?” 

“Um,” he says softly, “yeah.”

“Okay,” Jean replies just as softly, kissing down Marco’s neck to stop at his collarbones and bite gently through the cotton.

“Mm,” Marco hums, arching his back a little, “that feels good.”

Jean could just do that all night, but since Marco has requested a demonstration, Jean tears his attention away from Marco’s collarbones.

“Most importantly,” he begins with a determined look, “did you use lube?”

“Um,” Marco says, making a face, “I spit on my fingers.”

“Oh _no,_ ” Jean groans, burying his face against Marco’s neck, “that’s already a disaster.”

“Yeah, it kind of hurt,” Marco admits in a small voice.

Jean presses a kiss against Marco’s cheekbone. “I won’t hurt you,” he says very softly. “And if something feels wrong, just tell me, okay?”

“Okay,” Marco whispers, his voice colored by sudden emotion.

Jean reaches over and slides the nightstand drawer open to retrieve the half-empty bottle of lube. Marco eyes it, but doesn’t say anything; Jean decides to be frank, since this is happening.

“I don’t want to see anyone else,” he says bluntly. “I don’t want to fuck anyone else. I just want you.”

“Um, does that include Reiner and Bertolt?” Marco doesn’t appear to be challenging, so much as hesitant and curious.

“Yeah,” Jean says softly. “Unless you want an open thing. Do you?”

“No,” Marco says immediately, shaking his head. “Like I said...” he bites his lip and his eyes fall, “I might just be boring, and want only one person.”

“That’s not boring,” Jean replies immediately, shaking his head as he kisses Marco’s forehead. “Everyone is different.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Jean nods confidently. “I’m okay with either... and honestly,” he adds, his voice growing softer, “I want you to myself. Sorry if that sounds creepy... but it’s true.”

“That’s not creepy,” Marco responds in kind, pulling Jean into a tight hug. “I guess we just want the same things.”

“That’s what’s important,” Jean replies, nuzzling against Marco’s neck and shoulder. 

He puts the lube on the bed and touches Marco’s stomach, slowly sliding his hand down to stroke his hipbones through his boxers.

Marco’s breath catches and his eyes slip shut, clutching Jean’s shoulder. He’s extremely sensitive, and Jean feels his heart speed up.

“Feels good?” Jean asks softly, stroking his thumb over Marco’s hips.

“Yeah,” he gasps. “You can keep going.”

Jean doesn’t hesitate as he pushes the boxers down Marco’s legs and off; then pulls Marco against him so that they’re both lying on their sides.

“Put your leg up here,” he directs, pulling Marco’s leg up. Marco bends his knee up so that it’s pressed against Jean’s ribs, and Jean clicks the lube open and spreads some over his fingers.

“Kiss me,” he says, and Marco immediately presses their lips as Jean reaches down to tease him.

“ _Ah,_ ” Marco’s voice is hoarse as he gives a short little cry, his mouth falling open against Jean’s. Jean moves his fingers, making slow, steady circles; Marco hides his face against Jean’s shoulder, letting out little whimpers and encouragements.

They kiss for a little while longer, Marco letting out little moans and gasps as Jean presses and teases, until Marco is whimpering and pushing back against Jean’s fingers. 

“I’m going to put one inside you, okay?” Jean whispers, turning his head to kiss Marco’s hair.

“Mmhm,” Marco hums, practically a whine as he moves against Jean.

Jean slowly presses the tip of his index finger in, and Marco lets out a shuddery breath.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

“No,” Marco whispers, and then gives a soft cry as Jean pushes in further.

“How does that feel?”

Marco gives a surreal, nervous little laugh. “Um... weird.”

Jean starts to laugh, and pulls his finger out. “Here,” he says, “lie on your back.”

Marco immediately does as asked and rolls onto his back, bending his knees up and spreading his legs apart without hesitation. Jean puts more lube on his fingers, and then reaches down again.

This time, Marco’s back arches and he gasps as Jean smoothly pushes his finger in. “Relax,” he says softly, “try not to tense up.”

Marco does relax, and Jean finally gets one finger into him up the knuckle; he curls it up, searching around, and Marco whimpers.

“Just hold on...” Jean says, his face tense with concentration as he crooks his fingers up again. Then, he knows he’s found what he’s looking for when Marco lets out a loud, surprised cry and Jean pushes against his prostate again.

“Right here?” he whispers. He’s half on top of Marco now, moving his finger steadily and kissing him.

“Yeah,” Marco moans out against Jean’s lips, “Jean...”

Jean can feel his calm, reassuring demeanor slipping and his typical bedroom behavior take hold, though he’s still cautious not to scare Marco away.

“C’mon,” he growls into Marco’s ear, nipping at his earlobe, “get yourself off for me.”

“Fuck,” Marco hisses, immediately reaching down to stroke his own cock.

As long as Jean lives, he is sure that nothing will _ever_ compare to the way Marco sounds when he curses in bed.

Jean presses frantic little kisses against Marco’s jaw as he starts to move more violently, pumping his hips up into his own hand as Jean steadily strokes that spot inside of him.

“You almost there?” Jean whispers into his ear, kissing at it. “You gonna come for me?”

“ _Ah,_ ” Marco cries, shivering, “fuck, Jean...”

“You feel my finger inside of you?”

That statement finally pushes Marco over the edge, and he comes into his hand, shuddering and shivering; it’s an intense orgasm, and Jean can tell he’s been knocked sideways by it.

He slowly pulls his finger out, and then embraces Marco.

Marco hides his face against Jean’s chest, and then to Jean’s surprise, he feels something wet against his skin.

“Are you crying?” he asks softly in surprise, pulling back to look at Marco in concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“Um,” Marco says, his voice hoarse and tears on his cheeks, “this sounds stupid, but that was just... really intense.”

“Oh,” Jean replies softly, nodding. “I get it.” He holds his arms out to Marco, and Marco huddles against his chest.

“It felt really good,” Marco adds, sniffling a little. “I’ve just... never felt that before.”

“As long as you liked it,” Jean replies, stroking Marco’s hair.

“I want to do it to you,” Marco immediately retorts, and Jean laughs softly.

“So, I really didn’t hurt you?” he asks after a moment.

“No,” Marco replies firmly. “Sorry,” he adds, laughing shakily, “I promise not to cry every time we have sex.”

“Well,” Jean says with a little shrug, kissing Marco’s hair, “it’s the first time... you know, um...” He swallows but keeps talking. “Since we started... dating.”

“Right,” Marco whispers. “It’s... different than the first-first time.”

“Yeah,” Jean agrees, “it is.”

“So... if you want...” Marco says after a few moments, as he draws away from Jean to look at him, the tears all but gone. “Um, maybe I can try...”

“Fingering me?” Jean asks with a little smile.

“Uh... you know...” Apparently, talking about these things in the abstract is easier for Marco than actually applying it to the two of them. “Making love to you.”

Jean blinks; at first, he doesn’t know what Marco is talking about—until realizing that Marco is substituting his own version of the word “fuck.” (Jean reviles the phrase “make love,” but when Marco says it, it just makes him feel stupidly happy.) 

Jean is broken out of his thoughts as Marco adds, “If you want me to, and you can show me how,” he says softly. “I mean, after a little while.”

“I’d really like that,” Jean replies, his breath suddenly stolen from him. He never thought Marco would be so eager. Then again, regardless of the fact that Marco is shy in some ways, he’s more openly curious than Jean, more prone to adapting and being open-minded, even when he’s nervous. 

“Um, Marco?”

“Yeah, Jean?” Marco replies as he’s reaching for a tissue on the bedside table.

“If your mom prays for you every time you spend the night here, she’s going to be in church a lot.”

Marco starts to laugh, and turns to press a kiss to Jean’s mouth as he smiles.

He looks hesitant, and Jean tilts his head to the side, waiting, until Marco shares what he’s thinking. “I’d like to be here as much as possible,” he admits softly. “Um, if that’s okay with you.”

Jean just smiles at him without hesitation and replies, “Me too.”

“Do you care if I don’t wear pants to sleep in?”

“I would _prefer_ you don’t wear pants.”

“Can I keep the shirt on?”

“I would _prefer_ you keep the shirt on.”

“I like this shirt,” Marco says shyly, curling up next to Jean with a happy, sated sigh. “I always have... especially when you wear it.”

“Uh, so...” Jean says, settling in with Marco’s head tucked under his chin, “I have a request.”

“What is it?” Marco asks curiously, but his voice is somewhat muffled and obviously sleepy.

“Can you wear the polo shirt?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jean says, trying not to laugh, even though he’s being completely genuine, “when you fuck me... can you do it wearing _only_ the polo shirt?”

“Wow, Jean. Do you want me to do it to Britney Spears, too?”

There’s no answer for a moment.

“Only if we don’t have to play it on vinyl, because my record player will never forgive me.”

“You’re kinky,” Marco says, laughing.

Jean doesn’t laugh, and just shrugs. “Um, yeah, I kind of am.”

“Sounds good,” Marco sighs, slowly falling asleep. “I want you to show me everything...” Jean starts to smile as Marco’s voice trails off. “Mm... Jean, I want to listen to rock music and have sexual relations with you...”

Jean laughs, and he slowly falls off to sleep, too.

The only thing Jean has ever loved as much as he loves Marco is his record player; and his record player definitely isn’t as warm as Marco.


End file.
